


A Kind of Crown

by cyprith



Series: Modern Magic AU [14]
Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1890072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyprith/pseuds/cyprith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t that they had an appointment, exactly. It was more like a… standing, unspoken agreement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kind of Crown

**Author's Note:**

> insanity-by-proxy prompted: Pretentious artisan coffee shop.

It wasn’t that they had an _appointment_ , exactly. Laid back as she was, Flittle didn’t go for the usual sponsor stuff. It was more like a… standing, unspoken agreement.

Every Sunday, around one-ish, Flittle held court in the corner of this pretentious little artisan coffee shop on Seventh. “ _Classing the place up_ ,” she called it. And every Sunday, around one-fifteen-ish, Diaval just happened to stop in. Usually with a container of his latest experiment and a complicated, several-step plan to wheedle or bribe a new recipe out of her.

It wasn’t an appointment—rather, a common coincidence.

Still, strolling in at his usual time, Diaval found himself surprised to see his usual seat occupied by a wee beastie in a mess of golden curls.

Until, of course, he saw the girl’s face. Then he stopped being very surprised at all.

“I had wondered how Leila got my work email,” he said, strolling over. “If she’s the sister with the molasses tarts, I’ll forgive you… as long as a certain slip of paper changes hands.”

Utterly unrepentant, Flittle grinned up at him. Though human, her hair drifted like an ocean in the sun slanting through the nearby window, deep blue kissed with green. She’d added three new patches to her jean jacket, Diaval saw. Another smiley-face and two cartoon sweets. 

“She’s the sister with Grandmother’s _entire cookbook_ , as a matter of fact,” she said, grinning like the Cheshire cat she wore on her right sleeve. “What a pity you’ll never see it.”

Laughing, Diaval plopped down in the open chair beside Aurora. “Harsh, Flit. _Harsh._ But just you wait. I’ve got a lady on the inside now. It’s only a matter of time.” And then, grinning at the child, “Isn’t the right, princess? You’d borrow a recipe or two for me, wouldn’t you?”

Granted, he’d only met the girl once before, but she’d struck him as such a happy child, laughing and fluttering around the office. Today, Aurora didn’t say a word. She frowned at him, little face wrenched up tight enough to shatter, and Diaval couldn’t help noticing the several broken crayons littering the storm cloud she’d been drawing.

When he looked up, Flittle offered an apologetic shrug. “It’s been a bit of a rough week at home.”

At this, Aurora outright glared. “My head hurts,” she said.

“Your head hurts? Good heavens, why didn’t you mention it before?” Diaval asked. Shucking his leather coat, he scooted up to the table and rolled his sleeves. “Here, close your eyes and lemme work my magic.”

Clever girl that she was, and no doubt used to adult-given platitudes, Aurora peered at him in suspicion. But Diaval brought out the big guns. He fixed his very sweetest smile on the girl, looking as innocent and hopeful as he possibly could.

This being the smile that wheedled Maleficent away from her computer long enough to eat, the poor wee dear didn’t stand a chance. With a little shrug, she turned herself straight in her chair and squeezed her eyes shut.

Across the table, Flittle arched a very blue eyebrow.

Diaval grinned. “ _Magic_ ,” he mouthed, waggling his fingers.

Then, ever so gently, he stroked his hand through the child’s hair. A simple enough trick, he’d learned it ages back as a teenager trying to manage an unruly herd of young cousins. For the girls (and a good number of the lads, as well) the very easiest way to get them all together was to offer to braid their hair.

As he’d expected, it worked wonders on Aurora, too. With every pass of his fingers through her curls, she relaxed a little further, until even the dark valley between her brows eased away.

But then, just as he was gathering up a few strands to make a proper braid, Diaval felt something hard on her scalp—a little outcrop of bone. Gently as he could, he felt around its edges. With a bit of searching, he found another just like it on the opposite side.

“Oh, it’s no wonder your head hurts,” he said without thinking. “Your horns are growing in, princess.”

Too late, he caught the alarm in Flittle’s eyes, her furtive hand sign, “ _Abort, abort!”_

Abruptly, Aurora’s face darkened like warning. Not quite glaring—not yet—she turned to peer up at him, her usually sunny face a brewing tempest, threatening tears.

“The other kids,” she said quite clearly, “don’t have horns.”

Well, _fuck_. Realizing too late the minefield he’d staggered into, Diaval groped for something comforting to say. But all his thoughts turned back to Maleficent, her great curling horns and sky-huge wings.

“Then it seems to me,” he ventured at last, “that they must not be princesses.”

Suspicious—oh, but she was an untrusting little bugger—Aurora’s eyes narrowed. Still, it gave her pause.

“Princesses?” she asked.

Diaval shrugged. “Well, all royalty has horns, of course. Do you remember when you came with your mum to Ms. Maleficent’s office?”

As though it’d never been, Aurora’s storm evaporated. She grinned, bouncing in her seat. “She had great big horns! Black shiny ones!”

“Indeed she did.”

Her eyes as big as saucers, Aurora practically glowed. “Will I have black shiny horns?” she asked, her voice heavy with hope.

Smiling, Diaval shrugged. He popped the lid on his Tupperware and pulled a cookie out for her. “I don’t know. It’s a surprise! What color horns would you like to have?”

Easy as that—although, of course, it was a near thing—Aurora forgot all about the pain in her head. She snatched up her crayons and turned to a clean page, began to doodle little girls with Maleficent-sized horns in a rainbow of happy colors.

Across the table, Flitter grinned. “ _Thank you_ ,” she said. “We’ve tried, but…”

Diaval nodded. “It’s different when you hear it from someone more like yourself.”

“Apparently.” Head tipped, she leaned back in her chair, considered him with a little half smile. “You know, I _will_ get you that tart recipe. Leila doesn’t part with many, but I think she’ll make an exception for you.”

Dropping a cookie into his twisted monstrosity of a coffee, Diaval looked up at her through his eyelashes and grinned. “I’d say I earned more recipes than just _that_.”

Unfortunately, Flitter had an immunity to the male varieties of _smolder_. She only snorted. “Don’t push your luck.”

And for the next little while, they talked about the usual menagerie of grievances. Nonsense in the news, the small lunacies of employment, emotionally withdrawn employers that could in no way be wheedled into a date—no Flittle, not even with a very pretty smile and a treat, thanks very much, he’d _tried_.    

After almost an hour of this, Aurora looked up suddenly from her drawing. “Diaval,” she said. “What colors do horns come in?”

And she looked so solemn, so prepared for disappointment, that he couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ll tell you a secret, love,” he said, leaning down. “It doesn’t matter what color they grow in, you can paint your horns like you paint your fingernails.”

Aurora’s eyes went huge. “I have green nail polish,” she whispered. “With _glitter._ ”

And Diaval laughed, worries of the office left far behind him. “That’ll do.”


End file.
